Tattered Justice
Page 29
Experience the compelling history of Crazy Horse, from boyhood until his untimely death, through the eyes of a fictional white boy named Andy—as he takes a heartfelt journey of the spirit.
In 1858 Andy’s family departed on a perilous wagon train excursion toward the Montana gold fields—a trip they would never finish. A nighttime Indian attack on their camp took the lives of everyone, except young Andy.
Alone on the vast prairie, Andy was captured by a young Indian known as Curly. The Lakota didn’t take prisoners, yet the light-skinned Indian took him back to his village, believing the boy was a spirit sent to him by the Great Whankan Thanka.
Re-named Wrong Hand by his adoptive Sioux family, Andy grew up alongside his strong and brave warrior brother. When soldiers encroached on the Indian’s hunting grounds the young man had to choose—leave with those of his own race, or stay in the culture he’d come to call his own.
Deciding to stay and work alongside the Lakotas to save their land, Andy experienced tribal politics and epic battles, including the Battle of Little Big Horn. After many victories, and in Lakota tradition, Andy’s Indian brother earned a new name. Though not an imposing sight, the mention of his name drove a dagger of fear through the hearts of whites.
The brother’s name is Crazy Horse...
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A sneak peek at John’s upcoming book, POETIC JUSTICE.
A radio crackled, jarring Janice and Annie out of their conversation. Janice sighed and changed directions, heading straight for the sheriff’s department van. Her hand trembled as she gripped the gun tighter.
She couldn’t talk Annie out of it. She didn’t want to do this, but she couldn’t stop Annie.
The groaning van door slid open, causing Janice’s heart to thump in anticipation, and a deputy helped two men out.
Their laughter shot daggers through her. Rage contorted her face. They’d laughed like that as they took turns raping her in the rear. When her insides ripped open and she screamed, they laughed harder.
When they shot her and threw her in the garbage dump, their braying laughter seared her brain as they sped away.
As the deputy turned to shut the door, Annie rushed forward—gun extended.
One man’s head turned toward her. His eyes widened and he opened his mouth to yell. The words never came out. Blood splattered the side of the van as two bullets hit him in the chest.
The deputy dived sideways as Janice turned the gun on the other. The first shot hit him in the throat, knocking him against the van. Blood splattered the white paint. The last three rounds ripped into his groin.
He slid down the side of the van, leaving a wide red streak. Annie ran close to them as they lay on the ground. Gun extended, she pulled the trigger several times. Unaware of the clicking as the firing pin connected to empty shell casings in the revolver, she turned the gun on the other.
When her arms tired, the gun fell from her hand.
With his gun drawn and extended, the deputy eased off the trigger as Janice dropped her gun.